


Pommel

by stardropdream



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Gun Kink, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Series, Sex Toys, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2016-09-02
Packaged: 2018-08-12 12:15:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7934242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s been so long since they’ve been able to do this, so long since the last they saw each other – but like this, it’s always like coming home, it’s always good. (post-series)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pommel

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to tumblr for the prompt, "General Porthos fucks Aramis senseless, fills him up, plugs him up, and sends him off to a /long/ council meeting. Have fun, First Minister."
> 
> (And the award for the most seemingly innocent but in context actually the worst title goes to...)

There is a moment when Aramis can’t breathe and the feeling only makes his head spin. He claws at the bed beneath him, squirming back against Porthos. Porthos’ cock is thick and full inside him, and Aramis is slick and ready for him. Porthos thrusts into him with a practiced familiarity that makes Aramis almost weep – arching to the sounds of Porthos’ gasps, his moans, the slow slide of his hands down Aramis’ stomach and over his cock in turn. 

Aramis whines out his name – he always does when he’s getting close, when he only wants to come, when he only wants to feel this forever – and Porthos grunts and nuzzles against the back of his neck as he rocks down against him, chest pressing to Aramis’ back. Aramis’ fingers curl tighter around the bed sheets although what he wants to do is reach back and tether himself to Porthos, kiss him slow and sloppy. To feel this forever. 

Porthos strokes him off, slow slides of his palm in time to the thrust of his hips, and Aramis’ whines turn silent, his mouth open but words lost only to the slow pursuit of pleasure. It’s been so long since they’ve been able to do this, so long since the last they saw each other – but like this, it’s always like coming home, it’s always good.

He comes, spilling across Porthos’ hand, and he can hear the thready, low moan from Porthos, lips against the shell of his ear and biting once as Aramis writhes, gasps out, muffles down his shout as he ducks his head, sinks closer towards the bed. Porthos wraps a steadying arm around him to keep him up.

When his breathing returns to him, Aramis grabs at Porthos’ hand and drags it up, licking at the come there, sucking his fingertips into his mouth and moaning around the taste, the scrape of his teeth against skin. Porthos shudders above him. 

“Come on,” Aramis whispers around Porthos’ fingers, licks his palm, feels the heavy slide of his own come over his tongue. “Come inside me.” 

Porthos is never one to deny him this – never would, they both know – and Porthos hardly needs the coaxing to resume his pace, to thrust up hard into him and come a few moments later with a hitching gasp of Aramis’ name. Aramis keens and arches, lets Porthos pull him back so they’re pressed together, squirming and rolling his hips back to milk Porthos’ cock, feeling himself fill with that come. 

The absence is always the worst part – the moment when Porthos breathes out and nuzzles to his neck and then slips his cock out of him. He’s suddenly, irrevocably empty and he _aches._

“Porthos,” he murmurs as he sinks down onto the bed, Porthos’ hands soothing over him – heavy and war-rough, but always gentle with him. 

“Hey,” Porthos whispers, breathless, sweat at his brow as he ducks his head and kisses Aramis’ shoulder, runs his hands over him. 

From beside them, he grasps the plug – a gift to Aramis after one night of fantasy-confession, the want for a gun inside of him. They’ve spent years with the barrel of a gun pressed to Aramis’ throat as Porthos fucks him, but this is something different. Aramis knows it is only a fantasy, and both logically and emotionally impossible, but this is the next best thing – a commission Porthos put time and thought into, a polished, shaped wood not unlike the pommel of Aramis’ gun.

When Porthos first showed it to him, Aramis had slammed Porthos to the wall and kissed him until neither of them could breathe. Now, Porthos runs his hand down Aramis’ spine, over the curve of his ass, slides his fingers into him. A tease, but it works – Aramis moans weakly and shakes his body back to rock against his fingers. Porthos spreads him, twists and hooks his fingers. It’s not the same as his cock inside him, but he feels filled. He is slick with oil and come, and when Porthos withdraws his fingers and slides the pommel inside him instead, it fills him and plugs him up – and it’s enough, for now. 

Aramis feels himself relax, makes a weak, involuntary sound as Porthos stretches out beside him and pulls him into his arms. Now he can kiss him – and he does, with abandon. Slow and sloppy and unhurried, born from years of knowing each other’s body’s too intimately to worry about the scrape of teeth or the burn of their beards against their lips. He hears Porthos breathe out his name and pull him in closer and Aramis squirms to get closer. Their cocks slide together, and they’re both soft and not as young as they used to be, but there’s still the phantom ghost of pleasure in the touch. He feels utterly and completely safe. 

And then Porthos says, between kisses, “We have a meeting in fifteen minutes.” 

Aramis’ eyes pop open and he gives him a wild look. The war council meeting. He’d forgotten in his rush to get Porthos out of his uniform that there was an actual reason that Porthos had returned to Paris and the palace in the first place. 

Porthos grins at him, though – wild and wicked, and looking so much like the young musketeer recruit he’d met almost twenty years ago now. 

“You did that on purpose,” Aramis says, realization dawning, and Porthos’ grin only widens. “Why, my dear General, who knew you were such a deviant?” 

Porthos chuckles, deep and honeyed, and palms at his ass, dragging him closer. One hand twists the pommel inside him and Aramis bites down hard at his lower lip to keep the moan at bay. But his eyes flutter, his breath hisses out through his nose, and he utterly betrays himself when he casts a pleading look at Porthos. 

Porthos just laughs, pressing their foreheads together. It’s a frankly adorably innocent gesture, considering one hand is still twisting the toy inside him, the other hand cupping his hip. 

“Just think,” Porthos tells him, “After the meeting, all I have to do is slip this out of you and fuck you. Could do it right on the table if we wanted.”

Another fantasy that won’t come to fruition but it serves its purpose. Aramis gasps out softly. 

The next few minutes are spent helping Porthos back into his uniform, doing up all the clasps and necessary buttons. It goes slow, frankly, because Aramis runs his hands down slow over him and while still naked, Porthos can run his hands over his ass. 

But Porthos helps Aramis dress, helping him get his clothes on as he moves carefully, not wanting the pommel to slip out of him, wanting to be full and ready for Porthos after the meeting is done. He feels warm all over, feels his cheeks flush at the thought of Porthos’ come still inside him – that Porthos will fill him again and again. He wonders how full he can get. He hopes they can find that out together. 

The meeting, of course, is unbearable. He can hardly focus as Porthos issues his reports from the front. The way he splays his hands across the table is utterly distracting. He’s so far away from him – across the table, speaking to the council. Aramis sits ramrod straight in his chair, tries not to focus on the shift and pull of the pommel inside him. His one satisfaction is knowing that Porthos’ cheeks are equally flushed, that he keeps sending Aramis a small smile whenever their eyes meet. An expectation. A secret they can both share. 

The meeting, as it turns out, is one of the longer ones. Even once Porthos finishes his report and is dismissed from the room. Aramis still has things to discuss and it takes several hours. Aramis watches the ticking of the sun across the windows as it moves from east to west. By the end of the meeting, he’s so obscenely hard that he almost feels embarrassed. Almost. 

The expectation wins out. He lets the other men file out before he pulls himself to his feet – nearly shaking with pent-up energy. 

Porthos is outside the door when he exits, just where he’d hoped he’d be. Aramis hardly takes the time to look around before he’s sliding himself up against Porthos and kissing him desperately. Porthos’ hands fall to his hips and pull him in closer. Aramis moans out and rocks shamelessly against him. 

Porthos must feel the heat and hardness of his cock pressing to him because he draws from the kiss quickly with a small, boyish smile and pulls Aramis towards one of the free rooms around them. 

He fucks Aramis up against the door. It’s as easy as that: Porthos slips down enough clothes for them both to get at him and Aramis presses his hands to the wall, arches his back, and lets Porthos slide the pommel out from inside him, slick himself up with oil, and slide his cock inside of him instead. It’s bliss, this feeling – and Aramis can hardly breathe as Porthos fucks into him, hard and fast and steady. 

“Yes,” he moans out and Porthos laughs, breathless and weighted with love, desire. He keeps chanting it – _yes, yes, more, yes_ – and it’s everything he could want in this moment.

Porthos comes inside him and he fills more. Aramis writhes, gasps out, feels blissed out that he knows Porthos will tease him for it later. But he shakes his head when Porthos reaches to cup his cock, to stroke him off.

“Later,” he whispers. “I want you to fuck me again. As many times as you can. And I want to be able to watch your face next time.”

Porthos grins at him, laughs, and kisses him – slow and gentle now, hands cupping his cheeks. Aramis sighs out and kisses him back, lets Porthos drop his hands to return the pommel to him, to right his clothing. They kiss against the wall like that, Aramis letting his hips roll forward a few times to relieve his aching cock, if only for a few moments. But he can wait. He can be patient for this. He wonders if he can get Porthos to come inside him four times, or if that’s pushing their age too much, pushing too much to expectations. 

He kisses Porthos again and again, slow little exchanges of half-kisses, breaking apart to breathe or to mutter brief words to each other. 

“Going to guess you liked the gift, then,” Porthos whispers once their breathing and kissing starts to abate.

“Oh,” Aramis laughs. “Oh, yes.”


End file.
